


Sleepless Nights

by juliamiddletwin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dreams, F/M, Late Night Conversations, Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 23:26:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1529678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliamiddletwin/pseuds/juliamiddletwin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia wakes up alone, and needs to talk to someone. Her brain feels like it's exploding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleepless Nights

Lydia was shaking in her sleep. She felt so cold, and alone. Allison was gone. Her best friend was gone. Every time she closed her eyes she could feel that feeling again, that sickness in the pit of her stomach, that knot that wouldn't go away. When she tried to sleep it only got worse. She dreamt of Allison, on that first day that she showed up in their crazy little town. Her first real best friend, gone before they could even go to prom, or get married, or get their dream jobs, or have kids, or discover themselves, or live their lives. It hurt so bad.

She woke up sobbing, and knew that she wouldn't be falling back asleep anytime soon. Lydia needed someone to talk to, or else she would implode. She could only think of one person. He was probably awake anyway, after what he had been through.

The moon was bright, and the town actually looked calm from this height. Lydia was in Stiles's jeep, trying to translate her thoughts into coherent sentences to explain what was happening in her head to him. But every time she started to get it right, tears would cascade off of her cheeks. They sat there for a few hours, mostly in silence, taking comfort in each others presence.

"Hey, Lydia, lets go for a walk. It's nice out, and you could use some air, I think," Stiles gently persuaded her. She obliged, and hopped out. It was rather nice for 5:30 in the morning, warm with a slight breeze. There was a trail not too far from where they had parked. It was almost dawn, so the not-quite-risen sun had begun to light up everything. Stiles grabbed her hand, a new habit of his, and they walked down the path. At first they didn't say much, just enjoyed the company of someone that understood. Stiles had barely slept since the whole thing, which stunk because now he didn't have to worry about the nogitsune taking over his body when he was unconscious. 

"Stiles... I don't know what to do. I feel like one of my limbs has been torn off. I can't stop seeing her. Wherever I go, she's there. In the flowers, in the breeze. Sometimes in other people. Her smile, her voice. I think I'm going insane."

"I know what you mean. I can't stop reliving the horrible things I did. I can't stop seeing Scott holding her, broken to bits. I don't dream anymore. All I have are nightmares."

They came up to a bench and sat down, silence surrounding them. Stiles put his arm around Lydia, and she curled into his side. He was warm and cozy, wearing one of his classic flannels. He smelled ridiculously good, and Stiles actually chuckled when he heard her sniff him a bit. 

"It's so good to hear that laugh," Lydia whispered. "It makes me feel like a person again. Like everything will be ok."

He didn't say anything, but he pulled her closer. She felt his chest going up and down, and it reassured and relaxed her so much she fell asleep.

When she opened her eyes, she was in a bedroom. It definitely wasn't hers. She looked around, and noticed some tacks and papers left on the floor. Stiles's room. She remembered sitting on that bench for while, but it felt like a dream. What time was it? And where was Stiles? She got up, put on her slippers, and walked downstairs. No one seemed to be home. 

Lydia decided walking home wouldn't be too bad, but it was actually around noon and she was in Donald Duck pajama bottoms. She decided to throw on one of Stiles's flannels and a pair of his sweats. She would return them soon enough. (But she wasn't really planning on it.)

At home that night, there was a tap on her window. Another. Was he really throwing stones at her window? Didn't he own a cellphone? She finally looked out and rolled her eyes. He was standing there, making puppy dog eyes with a box of pizza and her pajamas, which she had apparently forgotten to bring home. 

"I'm not giving your clothes back to you," she yelled down, and then ran to unlock the door. 

They fell into this routine, this support system-type thing. His goofy mannerisms started to come back, slowly, as did her sass. They were certainly an interesting pair, but it worked. 

He made her smile, and she made him laugh, and they began to have sleepless nights for other reasons.


End file.
